It seemed an eternity before she turned and looked at him, but when she did, it was obvious that she hadn't seen him. She lit four candles, and slipped some money into the collection box, and then she stood and stared at the altar again, and there were tears on her cheeks too. And then, head bowed, she pulled the fur coat more tightly around her. She began to walk slowly between the pews, as though her whole body ached, and her soul with it. She was only inches from him, when he gently reached out a hand and stopped her. She looked startled when he did, and she glanced up at him with a look of astonishment, as though she had been wakened from a distant dream. But as she looked into his eyes, she gasped and stared at him. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes brimmed with the tears she had shed at the altar.

“Oh my God…” It couldn't be. But it was. She hadn't seen him in almost seven years. It was impossible to believe it.

He touched her hand without making a sound, and as he did, without hesitating she melted into him, without a thought, without a word, and he put his arms around her. It seemed right that they had both come here, that they should be together today, and they clung to each other in the church like two drowning people. It was a long time before she pulled away, and looked up at him. He looked older than he had before, more battle worn, more weary in many ways. There were small scars on his face, a bad one she couldn't see on his arm, the leg of course, and gray in his hair, and yet as she looked at him, she felt eighteen, and her heart pounded as it had when she was a girl in Paris.